Page 15 of His Enemy's Daughter
I type back a confirmation and return to reviewing surveillance footage, but my mind keeps drifting back to those few seconds when Regina’s mask slipped. When whatever she keeps locked away leaked through just enough to prove it exists.
Intelligence. Fire. Anger that she’s learned to hide so well that even the people who should see it remain blind.
I’ve built a career—such as it was before prison—on reading people, on understanding what they want and using that knowledge strategically. Regina Picarelli wants freedom. She wants to escape from the beautiful prison her father’s built around her.
The question is whether she’s brave enough to take it when the opportunity comes.
And whether I’m ruthless enough to offer that opportunity knowing it might destroy her in the process.
The sun sets over the city, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow. I watch Picarelli’s building until the lights come on, marking the transition from day to night, from public performance to private reality.
The game is changing. The pieces are moving. And Regina Picarelli—whether she knows it yet or not—is about to become the most important player on a board she never asked to be placed on.
I just hope she’s ready for what comes next.
Because once we make contact, once we offer her that choice, there’s no taking it back. She’ll either become our greatest asset or Sabino Picarelli’s proof that trusting anyone—even his own daughter—was always a mistake.
Either way, the beautiful cage is about to develop cracks.
Whether Regina has the courage to break through them remains to be seen.
5
Regina
“You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet.”
I don’t look up from the file spread across my father’s desk, even though Giordano’s voice carries enough concern to make my chest tighten. “Then Father should invest in better quality rugs.”
“Regina.” He steps into the office, closing the door behind him with the kind of careful silence that speaks to years of moving through dangerous spaces. “What are you doing?”
“Research.” I flip another page, scanning details about territorial disputes and shipping routes that should bore me but instead make my pulse quicken. “Father’s been obsessing over increased Codella activity. I’m trying to understand why.”
“That’s not your job.”
“Everything related to this family is my job.” The bitterness leaks through before I can stop it. “Or have you forgotten that I’m Father’s most valuable asset?”
The silence that follows carries weight I’m not ready to examine. When I finally look up, Giordano’s gray eyes hold something that might be sympathy or pity or both.
“You shouldn’t be in here alone,” he says quietly. “If Sabino finds out—”
“Father gave me access to his files for legitimate business purposes.” I gesture at the scattered papers with false confidence. “I’m simply being thorough in my understanding of current threats to our operations.”
“Current threats.” Giordano moves closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive that Father probably chose for him. “Is that what we’re calling the Codella family now?”
“What would you call them?”
“Dangerous. Powerful. Not people you want to antagonize without careful planning.” He picks up one of the surveillance photos scattered across the desk—a silver-haired man with storm-gray eyes and a scar running from temple to jaw. “Especially not this one.”
I snatch the photo back with more force than necessary, studying the face that’s been haunting me since I first discovered his file. “Mauricio Barone. Forty-six years old. Released from prison three weeks ago after serving fifteen years for—”
“For protecting Simeone Codella during a failed territorial expansion.” Giordano finishes my sentence with the kind of knowledge that comes from being Father’s right hand. “He took the fall. Kept his mouth shut. That kind of loyalty is rare.”
“Or stupid.”
“Or both.” He settles into the chair across from Father’s desk, studying me with unsettling intensity. “Why are you so interested in him specifically?”
Because he spent fifteen years of his life in prison protecting someone he loved. Because that kind of sacrifice speaks to principles I didn’t know still existed in this world. Because looking at his photograph makes something in my chest twist with recognition I don’t want to name.
